A Season of Hope
by rynogeny
Summary: One-shot. Post-The Doctor in the Photo scenario different from how the show is going. No spoilers past that episode. In terms of timing of the story - note that TDitP took place in October according to the ep itself. This starts mid-November.


A/N: I wrote this one-shot in December, and posted it at the Bonesology forum (bonesology (dot)yuku(dot) com), completely forgetting to post it here until now. There's a sequel to it that I'll post later today, but that's M-rated. This is T, but does have some strong language in it.

A/N: This takes place after The Doctor in the Photo, but begins in early November. No spoilers past that episode.

A Season of Hope

"_You love someone, you open yourself up to suffering, that's the sad truth. Maybe they'll break your heart; maybe you'll break their heart and never be able to look at yourself in the same way. Those are the risks._

His mind barely on the drive, Booth made his way to the construction site where a body had been found. Cam had been brief, her tone clinical when she notified him of the case. Which meant one of two things: there was something about the scene that was particularly horrifying, or she was pissed at him. Although he couldn't think of anything he'd done, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was the latter. He'd known her for too long.

But then, perhaps it was just his own overall mood influencing him. Things hadn't been completely right since that night in the SUV when he'd had to hurt Bones so badly. No way around it, but more than once he'd awakened with the memory of her sobs echoing in his head. He hadn't missed the irony that he was thinking more about her – worrying more about her – than he was thinking about Hannah.

He didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to help her. He'd made a point of stopping by her office – something he'd not done much recently – the day after that conversation on the pretext of the case. He'd wanted to find a way to reassure her that their partnership, their friendship, was intact, without giving her hope for something else.

He'd not known what to expect and had been terrified the emotional, vulnerable woman of the days before would greet him. Instead, she'd met his eyes, given him the details he was looking for, and told him she'd send him her notes about Lauren Eams after she had Sweets look over the way she'd worded her conclusions about why and how the cardiologist had died. All in a completely normal tone of voice, devoid of any hint of the woman who'd fallen apart in front of him.

And that had been their pattern now for six weeks. Hannah had invited her to join them for a meal more than once, and she'd said no. Although it saddened him, he understood her not wanting to see him – how could he not, under the circumstances? But what troubled him was he knew from things Hodgins had said that she'd withdrawn from the others, too. Damn it, that wasn't what she needed right now. Why couldn't she see that?

Sweets had told him that he thought her behavior reasonable for Brennan, that she'd withdraw until she could process her emotional response to the Eams case. But he, too, was worried.

Booth hadn't told any of them – not even Sweets or Angela – the full story of what had happened that night. It seemed wrong to expose her in that way, even to her closest friends. If she wanted to tell them – and he hoped she would – that was one thing. But daily, he wondered if that had been the right thing to do, more so when he heard comments about how many hours she was working, how many days it had been since she'd even gone to the diner for lunch with them.

He'd not told Hannah, either, and worried about that, as well. How much was a man obliged to tell his partner about that kind of thing? It just felt so damned awkward, and personal, and…and maybe he should have told her, but he simply couldn't risk adding to Bones' pain in any way, and that's what telling anyone felt like he'd be risking.

But things felt a bit off with Hannah, too, and he wondered if she was sensing something. She'd been quiet the last few days, and he'd tried to be reassuring, wondering if she interpreted his – justified, in his mind – concern for Bones during the Eams case to mean more than it did. She'd only smiled at his comments but remained quiet. Thoughtful.

On a sigh, he pulled up and parked next to the Jeffersonian van. Maybe working together on a new case would help Brennan find her equilibrium. She'd said she'd adjust, and she would. That was the point, wasn't it? People did adjust to these kinds of situations, and he'd do anything in his power to help her, to show her he was still her friend, to whatever degree she wanted him to be. She was a strong woman, the strongest one he knew – even including Hannah.

It was the vulnerable core hidden inside that strength that worried him…and which he couldn't do one damn thing about.

He got out, walked toward the crowd gathered in one corner of the site, and the urgent messages his gut had been sending him intensified when he saw Clark Edison pointing out something to Cam. A quick scan told him Bones was nowhere among the others present, and he gave a passing thought to hoping she'd taken some time off, but even that made him uneasy. Perhaps she'd gone to visit Russ and Amy, but he didn't want her alone right now. Damn, damn, damn. Where was she?

Cam saw him coming and turned to walk over to him and he knew immediately that option B was the right one – she was furious with him. Normally, his first response to someone being angry at him when he didn't know what he'd done was to get angry back. But his fear for Bones was growing.

"Where is—" Before he could even get the whole question out, Cam slapped an envelope against his chest. He took it, but irritation topped worry for a moment. "Well, hello to you, too. Where's Bones?"

"Read the letter, Seeley." With that, she turned and stalked away, back to where he could see Clark pointing something out to one of the FBI crime scene techs.

His gut was no longer sending frantic messages but had instead settled down into a sick ball, comfortable that its job as canary in the coal mine was done. Uncaring about the crime scene for the moment, he turned and went back to the SUV. Leaning against it, he looked at the envelope, saw his name, hand-written in Bones' precise penmanship on the front.

Grimly, he opened and read.

_Dear Booth,_

_I told you I didn't want to die with regrets, and since that night have realized I will do just that. That there are many things I regret, and I expect saying this to you in a letter rather than having the courage to do so in person will be added to the list. But however weak it proves me, such a conversation is beyond me right now._

_I also told you I'd adjust, and that, too, seems beyond my skill set at the moment. But attempting to do so, to live with the consequences of the mistake I made last year, has shown me other things which are now on that list of regrets. Specifically, I regret not only turning you down, but being so completely insensitive to you, both that night and in the following weeks, in not recognizing the sacrifices you were making to remain the friend I'd had the nerve to request you be. Saying I'm sorry seems woefully inadequate, but for what it's worth – I am sorry. I know you'll forgive me, know you already have. That's who you are. But the words needed to be said._

_I've always seen myself as a strong woman, but now am realizing that compared to the strength you showed in continuing to be my friend after I turned you down, I have no strength at all, because I'm failing to adjust to a world where you both are, and aren't, at the same time. _

_I've taken a leave of absence from the Jeffersonian. Unlike when I went to Maluku, I've tried to minimize the disruption my departure will cause. Dr. Edison has been hired in my place, and I've told both him and Cam that I will be available to consult with them, day or night, should they need me. Dr. Edison is extremely knowledgeable and has learned much from me, so it might not be necessary at all, but I will continue to check with him to make certain he's not encountering something which requires my assistance. My cowardice is bad enough, I do not want to add additional problems in solving cases for you or the team to that ever-growing list of regrets. _

_I don't know if or when I'll return. It has occurred to me that you got over your feelings for me quite quickly once we were apart, so perhaps the same thing will happen and I'll be able to return and resume our working partnership. Then again, perhaps your relationship with Hannah helped in that respect – you told me the night I turned you down that you wanted to find someone to love you, whereas I only want to rediscover my peace in being alone. That might take longer. _

_I wish you and Hannah all the best. Please tell Parker goodbye for me._

_Brennan_

Reading it had been one punch after another and he had to close his eyes against the waves of pain. What was worse, he wondered, the fact that it sounded like she didn't believe he still truly cared for her as a friend, or that she thought he'd 'gotten over her quite quickly'? Or perhaps it was that line about rediscovering peace in being alone that was causing him to blink against the moisture in his eyes. It was the last thing he wanted for her.

And although he and the others had always seen the differences between her and Lauren Eams more than the similarities, the thought of Bones alone somewhere, without even friends to care for her, scared him down to the bone. The memory of a car rushing toward her in the rain was too strong.

Sensing someone, he looked up, saw Cam standing near him.

"Where did she go?" He hadn't planned to ask, but wanted desperately to hear something that would assure him that she was okay, that she wasn't alone.

"Leave her be, Seeley."

"Damn it, Cam."

"Don't 'damn it' me. Do you remember what I told you last year when you decided you were in love with her?"

"I didn't 'decide' I was in love with her. I was." Bitterness coated his tongue. "And yes, I remember your warning. But what the hell was I supposed to do? I asked her to give us a chance. Just a chance – that's all I asked for. And she shut me down." Even now, even with Hannah at home waiting for him, the memory of that night made him feel raw. He looked away for a moment, then back. "I told her I had to move on, but I kept hoping right up until she got on that plane that she'd reconsider, give me some reason to think she'd change her mind. And not only did I not get that, I didn't hear from her at all for seven months." His laugh was mirthless. "Do you know I spent the first five months in Afghanistan stalking the clerk who delivered the mail? Even a postcard would have worked. But no, I wasn't any more important than anyone else. What was I supposed to do, Cam? Wait forever? And because I didn't, because I met Hannah, it's my fault?"

Cam slowly shook her head before coming to lean against the SUV, next to him. "No, it's not your fault." She sighed. "I wanted it to be, even though Dr. Brennan isn't blaming you. I've never seen someone look so strong and…" she hesitated, "feel so fragile at the same time. But no, it's not your fault."

Her vindication brought his own guilt back and he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "It feels like it is." After a moment, he tried again. "Of course I'll leave her alone, but where is she?"

Cam shook her head. "I don't know. She's spending Christmas with Russ and Amy, but I don't know where she is in the weeks until then. She's working on a book."

"A novel?"

"No. She said she's uncertain if she's going to write fiction again. She's working on a book about the investigative techniques we've – she, mostly – has pioneered. On the plus side, she asked me to write the introduction and Hodgins and Angela to write or co-write chapters. So there will be contact at some point for that."

Future plans for contact and Christmas with her family. Well, that was something, especially the latter. He'd been trying not to think about her being alone at Christmas.

"But you can contact her?"

"Yes. She has her phone with her, and email."

"Will you?"

"She asked me not to in the short term, at least, unless it's case related."

Unsurprised, he looked down at the crumpled letter in his hand. He refolded it and placed it his pocket before looking at her. "Will you let me know if she contacts you?"

"Of course."

He stared over at the crime scene, absently wondering how many crime scenes just like it he'd been at with Bones over the years. He couldn't imagine ever getting used to not seeing her there. "So what's up with the case?" Was it unfair to Clark for him to hope it turned out to require Bones' assistance? Even long distance, even if it was through Cam and Clark, it would be a form of contact, a way of knowing she was okay.

But Cam shook her head. "Clark says the bones have been there for decades. A church built in 1930 burned down a few months ago and the site was being prepped for rebuilding. He thinks the body pre-dated the church and was disturbed by the fire or heavy equipment brought in afterward."

"Okay, that's just creepy to think of a church being on top of a body all those years."

"Either way, while we'll investigate, it's not an urgent case. Go home, Seeley," she said gently. "You look nearly as bad as Dr. Brennan did when she gave me the letter. Go home and get some rest."

He nodded and turned to open the door as she started back toward the crime scene. He paused and watched her go, glanced again through the crowd of techs and investigators, wishing his partner was there.

Maybe it was time to consider that promotion they kept offering him.

* * *

He didn't go straight home, though. Instead, he drove to Bones' apartment. Even knowing she wasn't there, even knowing he wouldn't disturb her if she was, he had to see the dark windows.

He'd spent the last months mostly not thinking about the previous five years, but now, memories rushed at him, of laughter and tears, fierce debates and companionable silences.

He rubbed absently at the ache in his chest, and felt the letter, which made the ache worse. It wasn't supposed to end this way.

Unlike Bones' place, lights were on in his apartment, and for the first time, he felt no joy in that. He'd spoken the truth when he said Hannah hadn't been a consolation prize, that he loved her. But tonight, he'd really rather just be alone.

Not an option, though, so he made his way up the stairs wondering what he could say to Hannah that would explain Bones' abrupt departure.

She was sitting on the sofa, her laptop on her lap when he came in, and when she looked up, that same thoughtful look she'd been wearing for the past few days on her face. "Did you see Dr. Saroyan?"

And that was when he understood that she knew. Nonplussed, he took off his overcoat and tossed it on the nearest hook before turning toward her. "Yes. You knew, didn't you?"

"Don't be angry with me. Temperance came to see me and we had a long talk." She hesitated, unusual for her. "I think she sort of said goodbye to you through me. I know that doesn't make any sense. She told me things, told me what you'd meant to her."

His panic must have been evident, because she smiled, though curiosity rode above it. "She was careful in what she said, Seeley, and made a point of telling me she wasn't going to share things that were really private between you, or were yours to share." She cocked her head. "And that, of course, only reminds me of all there is I don't know about you."

Relief warred with the dregs of panic. Some of the things Bones knew he'd never wanted to burden Hannah with. What would be the point? And in the end, what difference had Bones knowing them meant for either of them? Then his own curiosity made its way through panic, pain, grief, and guilt. "So what did she tell you?" His eyes still on hers, he sat in the nearest chair.

"She talked for a long time. It was as if she needed to say the words, needed them out there. And journalists are good listeners. She told me about her family, and what you did for her in helping her solve her mother's murder and then all through her father's trial. She understood what she asked of you there, by the way. She told me about you being shot for her, the Gravedigger, and someone named Zach. That was the only time she cried."

He looked away that at point. Guilt over Zach still plagued him. Not his fault, the kid had made his own choices. But if he'd spent more time with him, would he have been as susceptible to Gormogon?

"She also told me about asking you for your sperm."

His gaze shot back to hers, and he could feel heat spreading up his face. He shouldn't have been in the least surprised that Bones had shared that, but still.

"She told me you did it, then realized you couldn't go through with it."

He had to look away again. That had been another gamble. He'd wanted to see his child growing in her belly and know they'd raise it together, that he'd be there to watch over them and help. That she'd want him there, to fill those roles. And so he'd backed away, rescinded his offer, and while he knew it was the right thing to have done for himself…if he'd not done it, if he'd not changed his mind, she wouldn't be alone now, damn it.

"She loves you more than I do, you know."

The statement jerked him back fully into the present, focused his attention completely on Hannah for the first time in…too long. But he didn't have a clue how to respond, knew he was just gaping at her.

"There. Now I have your complete attention." She smiled, a hint of mischief warring with the curiosity still apparent on her face. "Don't look so panicked. I've suspected that for a long time. How could she not, given how long you've been together?"

"Ah, we weren't…she didn't…it wasn't like that. Exactly. We were never a couple."

"Because she told you told no."

Of course Bones had told her that, too. Was Hannah angry that he'd not been the one to do so? Should he have? Probably. "You're not the rebound," he said quietly.

"I know."

"I guess I should have told you, but when we first met, I was just so relieved to be in a relationship that was working…I didn't want to think about it. Despite things she said when we said goodbye, I wasn't sure I'd see her again. I didn't know if she'd return from Maluku, half expected her not to. I just didn't want to get into it, and then, later, it felt stupid to try."

Hannah nodded. "Do you love me?"

"Of course." The response was automatic, and no less true for that. And wasn't her directness one of the things he loved most?

"Do you love Temperance?"

But he didn't know how to answer that. "Yes," he finally said cautiously. "As a friend."

She moved her laptop, came over and knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers. "I love you, too. And while I miss the excitement of being in the field, I love the life we're making here. But Seeley, I'm not yet so invested in it that it will do to me what it did to you when she said no, what it's doing to Temperance now to realize she's lost you. And I need to know, we both need to know, that you're sure of what you want. Of who you want. Because if you and I continue and you realize somewhere down the road that it's not me after all, after I've given you more of myself than I've already given, and I get hurt that way…I'm seriously going to be very pissed."

His stared at her, loved her that she'd simply said all that. But the fact that he couldn't reassure her made him sick inside, for the second time that day.

"You said you love her as a friend. The same way you love Dr. Saroyan and Rebecca?"

Former lovers. He knew what she was getting at, and felt cold sweat bead on his forehead. But her honestly demanded nothing less than his. "No. It's not the same." He pulled away from her, stood, and paced around the apartment, stopped in front of the window to stare out, unseeingly. "It's not the same as what I feel for you, though, either."

Was he as weak as he sounded to himself? As wishy-washy? A man should know his own heart, shouldn't he?

He turned back toward her, took refuge in the one thing about himself he could count on, at least the one thing that was relevant here. "I will never cheat on you."

"If I thought you could or would, I'd kick your ass, FBI super soldier or not."

He couldn't help it. He grinned at her, loved her in a completely uncomplicated way. Then sobered, unsure of his next move. "I love you," he said. "And I love her." The words were hard to say, but the honesty felt right. Felt clean. "And you're right. I need to figure out exactly what it is I feel for her." And suddenly he knew what to do, where to go for help in starting to figure it out. "I need to go back out," he said. "There's someone I need to talk to."

He walked over to her, leaned down, and kissed her. "You may think you don't love me as much as you will or could, but you already love me more than I deserve."

"I know." She smiled, and it nearly reached her eyes. "I probably won't be here when you get back. I'll go to a hotel for the night. Don't take that wrong, okay?"

He lowered his head, rested it against her forehead. "I hate that. Hate that you feel you need to do that."

"I don't. I'm not being run out of our home, Seeley. I just think it's for the best, for both of us. Call if you need me."

He nodded, kissed her again – this time on the forehead – and walked out.

* * *

The man he needed to see was right where Booth expected to find him. The only chef-shrink (shrink-chef?) on the east coast was in the middle of things in the post-dinner rush hour at his restaurant. He took one look at Booth's expression and steered him towards the table in the center of the kitchen – not Booth's first choice for this conversation, but beggars couldn't be choosers – while ordering someone to bring wine and a meal.

"Eat," he said firmly. "I'll be back in a moment."

Wondering just how bad he looked, Booth ate, for once not caring that he didn't have a clue what it was he was eating (animal? vegetable? Probably not mineral…) and tried to figure out how and where to start his explanation. With Bones' rejection? Their time apart? Hannah? Or the Lauren Eames case and its aftermath?

Gordon Gordon Wyatt sat down in front of him with tea and studied him for a moment. "I should tell you up front that Dr. Sweets called me a few weeks ago, when he became concerned about Dr. Brennan's over identification with a victim. He summarized the events – at least as he knew them – of the past few months for you both. You've had a rather busy year, have you not?"

Too relieved at not having to rehash everything to be more than mildly annoyed at Sweets, he nodded. That was one way of putting it, he supposed. "What did you tell him?"

"Perhaps we'll get to that in due time. Why don't you tell me what brings you tonight?"

Booth handed him Brennan's letter, took another bite of the whatever-it-was – in all fairness, it wasn't half bad – while the other man read it.

Gordon refolded the letter and handed it back. "I see. And I take it that that concerns you, in spite of your Hannah?"

"Of course it concerns me – she's alone!"

Gordon sat back, sipped his tea. "Dr. Saroyan gave you the letter and you came straight here?"

"No. I went home, where Hannah told me she's known Bones was leaving, that Bones came to see her. Told her a bunch of stuff about herself, us." He frowned, still confused by that.

"Such as?"

Booth outlined what he remembered Hannah saying, and watched Gordon nod. "Why did she do that?" he demanded. "Hannah said it felt like she was saying goodbye to me that way, but that doesn't make any sense."

"On the contrary." He sipped his tea. "Until recently, Dr. Brennan believed certain things were true. Specifically, she believed you were friends, and that's all you were. She also believed that was all she wanted from you. Now that she knows it was more than that, she's revisiting those moments, seeing them differently. And she needed to express that to someone, to give those moments their rightful due. Assuming she knew Hannah would tell you what they discussed, it's her way of validating your love for her. Saying she now understands your feelings. Those feelings may be gone, but it now matters to her that you felt that way, and that you know she knows you loved her."

Booth looked down at his plate, uncomfortable. Gone? Apparently not.

"How is your lady handling all this?"

"Hannah? I don't have a clue. We may have broken up, but I'm not sure." He grimaced, wondered if it were possible to sound more stupid. "She's at a hotel tonight. She's not angry. She says Bones loves me more than she does." He shoved the plate away. "How can she know that? I don't even know that. I don't even know that Bones does love me, or won't change her mind again, and that doesn't matter anyway because I'm with Hannah now."

"You doubt that Dr. Brennan loves you?"

"As a friend? No. But if Sweets told you about the Eams case…let's just say Bones was a little rattled the night she told me she regretted turning me down. That's not the same thing as love."

"It sounds as if you're hoping it's not."

"I don't want her to hurt. Is that wrong?"

"Not at all. But are you sure you're not hoping it's something simpler because it will be easier for you?"

Booth gave him a dark look.

"You're not here to partake of that fine wine and superb meal I placed in front of you. You're here because you're questioning your feelings, probably for both women."

"I love Hannah."

Gordon just looked at him steadily.

"And I love Bones," he muttered. "What kind of man does that make me?"

"A human one." Gordon sat down his cup and leaned forward. "The heart's not governed by neat laws, Agent Booth. You don't stop loving someone simply because you decide to, no matter how wise it might be."

"How can I be with one woman while loving another? That's not right."

"You don't love Hannah, then?"

"I do, yes." Helplessly, he stared down at his fists. "I thought I was over Bones."

"Possibly you were, until she changed the game for you by recognizing her own feelings. Or were well on your way, at least. Although there are no neat laws governing our feelings, there are things that are generally true. One is that the longer the relationship, the more intense the feelings, the longer they take to fade. If Dr. Brennan leaves and stays away long enough, you probably will wake up one day and realize you feel nothing more than affection for her. It would probably take less time to feel the same way about your Hannah. The question is which of those two scenarios you want the most, which of the two is right for you."

"What about Hannah and Bones?"

Gordon smiled. "You cannot choose for their hearts, Agent Booth. Either of them, no matter how much you love them. You can only figure out what your own heart wants and then go from there." He sat back, took another sip of tea. "I do agree with Hannah that a break from your relationship with her is in order."

Frustration spiked. "How do I decide?" Even the words were distasteful to him. You decided which socks to wear in the morning, not which woman to love.

"That is a very good question, and varies from person to person. But you might start by asking yourself this: when you look forward thirty years and imagine being with one and not seeing the other one again, which arrangement causes you the most distress?"

Booth just stared at him, his stomach once more making like a lead ball.

"I see from your expression that you had an immediate reaction to that question. But my advice would be to take a few days to consider it. You might also ask yourself why you love them, what it is you love about them."

"I can't do that. I can't weigh pros and cons like that. They're human beings!"

"I don't see that you have a choice," Gordon said gently. "A choice is before you, regardless. All I'm doing is making suggestions that might allow you to hear the truth from your heart. Whatever you decide doesn't mean what you feel for the other woman is false or without meaning. But unless you walk away from both of them – in itself a choice – you must choose one or the other."

Booth brought his hands up, rubbed his face tiredly. "And one of them will be hurt, no matter what I do."

"I'd say all of you will hurt, no matter what you do. Even if you choose Hannah, I suspect she will hurt for you, for the choice you had to make. But to live is to experience pain."

* * *

Two things were different about this leave of absence for her from the Jeffersonian: the first was that this time, Brennan was fully aware she was running, and the second was that she didn't go far. She'd settled into a bed and breakfast on Maryland's Eastern Shore, finding something peaceful about being near the water when she began really working on the book.

She knew she needed to find her balance again. She'd told Booth in the letter that she needed to find peace in being alone, and that was true. But at some point, she would have to work out what she wanted from the relationships in her life. She still didn't want to die alone, like Lauren Eams had.

The question was how could she return to the peace she'd known before he entered her life while maintaining other relationships?

In theory, the book would allow her to have those relationships, but from a distance while she adjusted to Booth's loss. It would give her a reason to maintain contact with Angela, Hodgins, and Cam. But in reality, too many of the notes she was referencing when she began outlining what she wanted to cover were from cases she'd worked with Booth, and their accompanying memories caused her severe emotional discomfort, not unlike when she'd still been seeing him occasionally as they worked on cases together.

The six weeks after that night in the SUV had been difficult. Her efforts to compartmentalize and work with him as necessary during the day had drained her of the ability and desire to spend time with the others, and more and more frequently, she'd awakened in tears from dreams that played through her head every night like a DVD, reminding her of the years when she'd had something precious and not understood its value.

The morning she woke wishing he'd been a minute later that night in the rain in Woodland, she'd known something needed to change. She wasn't as strong as he was, wasn't going to adjust while working with him.

The question was whether she'd be able to do so while working on the book, or having any contact at all with people who still saw him. Perhaps it wasn't a matter of finding her peace in being alone again, perhaps it was a matter of survival and the only answer was in being alone. Completely alone.

* * *

Booth stood with his back to the door of his office, staring out the window while playing with the dice he kept in his pocket.

Some days, even his office reminded him of the chaos his life was in.

Or rather, reminded him of his ex-partner and his now (or soon to be) ex-girlfriend.

Six days had passed since Hannah left for the hotel. He'd spoken to her twice, both brief 'touching base' conversations. What could he tell her, really? That he was an ass who didn't know what he wanted?

Except he did – he'd known since Gordon's question about what he'd want thirty years from now. But he couldn't quite bring himself to make the break with Hannah – see, ass – and didn't begin to know whether a relationship was even possible with Bones. Or should be, or when. What was the protocol for this kind of mess? How long should he wait after breaking up with Hannah before talking to Bones? And in the meantime, he was presumably hurting Bones more by not saying anything at all. Yeah, definitely an ass.

"Agent Booth?"

Sweets spoke behind him and he closed his eyes, prayed for patience. He'd been avoiding the young shrink for days, putting him off with manufactured meetings, convenient court dates…anything he could think of. But it was going to be hard to be convincing with those kinds of excuses when he'd been caught staring out the window.

"What?" he turned, went on the offensive. "I was just getting ready to head—" Somewhere. Tired of lying, he simply stopped. "What do you want, Sweets?"

Sweets walked toward him. "I was wondering how you're doing. Dr. Saroyan told me she believed you and Hannah were, ah, having difficulties and I-"

Okay. He'd kill Cam, too, as soon as Sweets was dead. His eyes never left Sweets as he tossed the dice on his desk, and stalked toward him. "What possible business of yours could my relationship with Hannah be?" His voice was deadly, though he doubted Sweets understood that. "She doesn't work for the FBI."

Sweets' back bumped up against the door he'd had the arrogance to close when he entered the office. "I'm, ah, not here in an official capacity."

Booth grabbed him by the lapels, hauled him to his toes. "I repeat, what business is it of yours?"

"I consider you a friend. I care about you."

Damn it. Anger deflated for the moment, Booth dropped him, shoved him – more or less gently – against the door, and turned back toward his desk. "Well, stop. People who care about me are piling up as casualties at the moment."

"It's not your fault."

He spun around again. "Isn't it? Two good women are being hurt because they had the poor judgment to love me, and it's not my fault?"

"You're not responsible for their feelings, only yours."

Booth laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah, because I'm so clear about mine."

"Aren't you?" Sweets asked quietly.

"Tell me again why you're here if you already know the answers?" He met the shrink's gaze head-on. "Face it, Sweets. You mean well, but you're not exactly an impartial observer here."

Sweets gave a brief nod. "Point to you. But that doesn't mean I can't make observations that are true."

Booth collected the dice, started tossing it into the air as he settled on the corner of his desk. He motioned for the other man to continue. "So…go ahead and observe. Which one should I hurt next?"

"It's not which one should you hurt. You're all going to hurt. It's who you'll hurt the most – including yourself – if you're not honest with yourself and them."

"Damn Bones," Booth muttered. "Why couldn't she have had this little epiphany last spring?"

"Because we don't have any control over the timing of personal breakthroughs. That's one answer. The second is that her realization was tied to your relationship with Hannah. Without Hannah, she probably would never have seen the truth of her feelings for you."

"Well that's fair to Hannah, isn't it?" He couldn't stop the bitterness.

"She didn't do it on purpose," Sweets responded patiently.

Remembering her gut-wrenching sobs in the SUV, Booth subsided. "I know."

He tossed the younger man the dice to see if he'd catch it, and gave in. "So what do I do, Sweets? I don't even know if Bones will take a chance on a relationship. And apart from the fact that I refuse to simply replace one woman with another, how do I approach her? How long do I wait?"

Sweets had caught the dice, and it was a testament to something – his acting skills, probably – that his face didn't change expression at finally getting the admission he'd been looking for for months. "Have you broken up with Hannah, then?"

"It's all over but the post-mortem. We both know that."

"So you're sure it's Dr. Brennan, then?" Sweets' voice was quiet.

"It's always been Bones, hasn't it?" Booth said wearily. "Whatever 'it' is."

"You don't believe she'll want a relationship with you?"

"Not entirely, no. Why should she, when I hurt her the way I did?"

"Because you didn't set out to hurt her. You told her the truth. And you did nothing wrong by beginning a relationship with Hannah after Dr. Brennan turned you down."

"Do I deserve her, Sweets? Do I deserve either of them?" the questions popped out in spite of himself.

"Is there anything you could have done differently, for a different outcome? If there is, I don't see it. You didn't set out to hurt anyone," he said again. "They see you more clearly than you do yourself, and both believe you're worth loving." He tossed the dice back. "My advice?"

Booth caught it, nodded.

"Make the break with Hannah and then give it a few weeks – for you, not for Dr Brennan, so you won't feel as much like you're running from one to the other. And then go to her, see what she says. As a side note, I'll point out that you don't have to begin a relationship with her immediately. If she's open to what you say, you'll both be in a new place, a place you've never been before in terms of one another. You can take things slowly, see what develops. Both of you have changed in the last months."

Booth stared at him, tossed the dice again. In spite of himself, the kid sometimes gave decent advice.

* * *

Booth frowned and peered suspiciously at the glass. Relieved that it wasn't empty, he drained it and then thumped it down on the bar, pleased at the knowledge Steve would refill it without giving him a hard time. Sometimes, you wanted to get drunk in a strange bar, where you were invisible to those around you. Other times, you wanted to get drunk with people who knew you, but would leave you in peace. Tonight was one of the latter nights, and so he was at the Founding Fathers, with the sole goal of getting completely plastered. Steve would indulge him and when it was time to call it quits, call a cab for him.

Cab. He frowned into the glass again, now mysteriously full, though he had no memory of Steve coming over. He hated cabs. They were always taking Bones away from him.

"Hey big guy."

Cam. He turned and looked at her, then looked over in Steve's direction. Traitor.

"Hey." This time, his frown was for her. "I'm mad at you."

"Oh? What did I do?" She settled on to the stool next to him.

He stared hard at her for a moment. "I don't know." He motioned toward her. "Something. I'll let you know." Then he snapped his fingers, or tried to. "Sweets. You told Sweets something."

"I do that occasionally," she agreed. "So why the drunk, Seeley?"

"I'm an ass."

"Occasionally, but we love you anyway. What did you do this time?"

"Hurt Hannah," he mumbled and polished off the glass again, somewhat regretfully. If Steve had called Cam, he was being cut off. A pity, as he wasn't nearly shitfaced enough yet.

"Did you? I'm sorry to hear that," she said, her tone gentle.

"Hurting everyone. Did I ever hurt you?" He looked over at her, wondered which of the two Camille Saroyans sitting there would answer.

"No, not like that. I can tell how you are – but how's Hannah doing?"

"Told me it was the right thing to do, then cried." He looked at Cam, felt guilt eat through the alcohol. "She said she always wondered if I belonged to someone else, even in Ag…Af…Agfanistan, but wouldn't change our time together, no matter what. She's wrong," he said belligerently. "I don't belong to anyone else. Or didn't. No, I don't. Do I?" He looked at her, puzzled.

"Your heart does," she said. "But that doesn't mean you were wrong to be with Hannah."

"I love her. She's okay," he mumbled. "Going to be okay. But she cried. She's staying in DC for a while." A moment of absolute clarity – still tinged with bafflement – broke through and he said, "She told me she wants me to be happy. I didn't know people really said that."

"Sometimes it takes a while, but the good ones do."

"I didn't deserve her."

"The fact that you care enough to get this drunk over something you couldn't have prevented proves otherwise, I think."

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Never wanted to hurt them, Cam."

"I know that. So do they. This was no one's fault, Seeley. Least of all yours. It just happened."

"I should be able to fix it," he mumbled. "Need to fix it." He glared at her. "Hannah cried."

"I know. But you are fixing it," she said patiently. "She'll be okay. She said so, didn't she?

"Yeah. I'm fixing it?"

"You are."

"What if Bones doesn't want me?"

"She loves you."

"She does?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I told her I loved Hannah. Hurt her. Told Hannah I loved Bones. Hurt her. I'm so fucked up."

"At the moment, you certainly are," she said on a slight sigh. "Seeley, listen to me." She leaned over, got his attention. "You in there? Good. This was not your fault. Neither of them will blame you. You do love both of them, just in different ways. I don't know what you and Dr. Brennan will work out, but I know you love her and she loves you, and Hannah will be fine."

"She will?"

"Yes." She stood, said, "let's get you home, so you can sleep this off and then start thinking about Dr. Brennan."

"Never completely stopped. That was the problem."

"Yeah, I'm getting that."

"Will you take me home, Cam? Hate cabs."

"Of course I'll take you home. My car's right outside." They stood, and she put her arm around him to steady him. "Since when do you hate cabs?"

He looked around, waved at Steve. "Thought about playing pool. Drunk is safer. Not for Jared, but for me."

"Good choice."

"What do I say to Bones?"

"That's something you'll have to work out, but you should wait until you can walk a straight line."

He looked down at his feet. "I couldn't do that right now."

"No, you most certainly couldn't."

"It's going to be okay, isn't it?"

"It is."

* * *

Two things were equally clear to him once he sobered up: the first was that he wanted to rush off and find Bones immediately (would he use FBI resources to do so without a qualm? Damn straight.) and erase the memory of that night in the SUV for both of them. The second was that he couldn't do so. As much as the thought of her loneliness and pain bothered him, he knew he had to wait, had to take time to move past his breakup with Hannah.

It wasn't that he was questioning his feelings for Bones. He wasn't. And it wasn't that he worried about how it would look to others if he went from Hannah to Bones. He figured the important people knew the truth – probably better than he did – and that would suffice.

But it felt …wrong, somehow, not to take a break, and he was listening to his gut. So he spent the next four weeks after his binge being lectured to by said gut on what love was, and was not, as well as acknowledging he was taking a gamble, betting that Bones would take a chance on a relationship with him this time, that 'I made a mistake' translated into 'I love you.'

And then one morning a few days before Christmas, he woke and knew it was time to find her, time to lay his cards – and heart – on the table. If she said no, but wanted to resume their partnership, he would. If she said no, and never wanted to see him again, he'd honor that, too, and at least know that she could spend the rest of her life knowing she'd been loved.

But he rather desperately hoped she'd say yes to him in some fashion.

* * *

It was a nice little town, Brennan reflected as she started towards 'restaurant row' for her evening meal. The tourists presumably thought it quaint – the little village on the shore. And that was probably never more so than this time of year, when it was decorated for the winter holidays.

A meandering stream separated the town proper from the neighborhood where her B&B was located, and she'd developed the habit of stopping on the bridge for a few minutes on her walks to appreciate the view of the town with its Christmas lights and the ocean beyond it. It was cold enough for the snow that had fallen the day before to still be on the ground, but not so much she felt a particularly urgent desire to get to her destination – one of the restaurants in the town center that catered to tourists and towns residents alike.

Maybe she'd try the Thai place tonight. That thought didn't bring as much pain as it had the first few weeks, and that was probably a good thing. She only had two days more before leaving for Russ and Amy's, and even if she hadn't quite found the equilibrium she'd been hoping for, she'd at least like a pleasant holiday. She didn't want her sadness affecting the others.

Amy was pregnant, and Russ, as much as he loved Hayley and Emma, was happier than she'd seen him in many years. She was pleased for all of them, of course, but Amy's pregnancy was one more reminder of what she'd lost. Of what she'd never have.

She heard or sensed someone behind her, and suddenly realized it was dark, and that even in a town like this one, with people not all that far away, she had to be aware of her physical safety. So she turned, and her mind simply went blank. That was one of those colloquial expressions people used that she could never make sense of – the brain only stopped completely at death. Even the ramblings of the insane were still proof of activity.

But 'blank' was the best description of her mental state when she saw Booth standing quietly at the end of the bridge.

"Hi, Bones." He closed the distance between them and then simply stood there, looking at her.

"Booth." Simple shock had given way to such a tangle of emotions she couldn't begin to distinguish pleasure – she'd forgotten the physical response he could evoke in her – from fear and pain, but she finally managed to say more than his name. "What are you doing here?"

He never looked away from her, and even in the dim light cast by the lantern shaped streetlights, she could see the intensity in his eyes. "I need to talk to you. Need to tell you something. After that, if you want me to, I'll go and won't bother you again."

That implied the possibility of a scenario where she didn't want him to go, but she couldn't afford to consider that. "What do you want, Booth?"

He nodded at her tone and finally glanced away, toward the town, as if steeling himself for something. Then he looked back at her. "Hannah and I broke up a few weeks ago."

Her brain was finally beginning to function again after the shock of seeing him, and she considered and discarded a number of explanations and responses to this newest shock before settling on a neutral, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I've been wrong about some things, Bones. But so were you."

"I told you I'm aware that I made a mistake last spring." Her voice sounded stiff, even to her ears. "I don't see the need to revisit it."

"That's not what I'm talking about. In your letter, you referred to my having gotten over you quite quickly, and I can understand why you thought that. I wanted you to think it. I wanted it to be true. But it wasn't."

"I don't know what that means."

He was still watching her in that focused-Booth way. "It means I never stopped loving you."

She hadn't known until that moment that some hidden part of her longed to hear those words, but she could never have anticipated that it would hurt as well. "You love Hannah." She turned, looked out over the stream, to the village beyond.

"That's what I was wrong about."

"You don't love her?"

"I thought love was simpler than it is."

Tired of being confused, she simply looked at him. He met her eyes. "Yes, I love her. I love Rebecca and Cam, too. And what I feel for all of them is a bit different – the love for an old friend, the love I feel for the mother of my son. I love Hannah for the hope she brought me, the peace in the middle of war." His voice went quiet. "The belief that someone could love me."

The fresh reminder of the pain she'd caused him obliterated her own – for the time being, at least, and she looked up at him, wondered what she could say. What he wanted her to say.

"I didn't say that to hurt you, but to...partially explain, I guess, my feelings for Hannah. The point is that I don't love any of them the way I do you. I thought love was simple, Bones, that there's friendship love and there's love-love and the lines between them were clear."

"They're not, I gather."

"No, because what I feel for her is nothing compared to what I feel for you. She's fun, and is a good person, and when I was with her, I was happy. But when I'm with you, the world is the way it's supposed to be. I'm a better man when I'm with you than when I'm with anyone else."

"But maybe I wouldn't make you happy." It was her greatest fear, and that leaked through in her tone.

He shook his head. "Different kind of happy. The best time of my life was after we started working together."

She didn't know what to say to that. "Did you break up with her, or did she break up with you?"

The question must have been unexpected, because he frowned. "We broke up with each other, but I initiated it, I guess. Why?"

How could he not see why that would be important? "You told me she wasn't a consolation prize. I just wondered if that's what I'd be." She hated that her voice sounded so small, so uncertain.

He closed his eyes, shook his head. Then he reached out and touched her for the first time, cupped her cheek. "No, Bones, you're no consolation prize. That's the point. I loved her, will always be glad for having known her. But you…you're the standard. When I said that, I meant it. And no matter what I had with Hannah, it was never going to feel completely right."

She swallowed, wondered that it was so hard to breathe. "What are you asking for? What do you want?"

He removed his hand, stuck it in his pocket, making her aware that the temperature was dropping. "I want to know what you want, I guess," he said slowly. "If you've found your peace in being alone and never want to see me again, I'll leave and won't bother you again. If you want to resume working together and see where things go from there, I'm up for that. Anything or nothing. Your choice." Trying to grasp what he was saying, she said nothing and the silence stretched into the evening and back again. He glanced away again and said nothing for a moment, then turned back. "I've told you how I feel. I've laid it out as plainly as I can, even though I know it makes me sound like I don't know my own mind. But all you've told me is that you regret last spring."

She knew what he was asking, and knew he deserved to hear the words, even if they didn't change anything, didn't change their relationship trajectory. But it was so hard. It felt like the words were fighting a physical battle to get out of her throat.

"I see." He suddenly looked tired, and older than he was. "I'll say goodbye, then, Bones. Take care of yourself."

Just that fast – as if the world wasn't spinning around her – he turned to walk away. She reached out and grabbed his coat. "Pyramids, Booth…remember?"

He stopped, then slowly turned, gave her a half smile that told her he got the reference. "Going too fast for you?" The smile faded. "I just didn't want to hang around if I was making you uncomfortable."

"I love you." The words were out before she could think about it any more, as if they had a will of their own.

An expression settled on his face she'd never seen him wear around Hannah, a look of wonder and something beyond happiness. Joy?

He cupped her cheek again, and lowered his forehead to rest on hers. "I love you, too."

They stood that way long enough for her to register that it was definitely getting colder. Somewhere in the distance, bells were ringing. "Now what?"

"That still depends on you. We can take things as slowly as you want, Bones."

She did something she'd been wanting to do since seeing him on the bridge and wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his shoulder. "Hold me. Please."

"My pleasure."

She lost track of how long they stood that way, their world gradually righting itself. Then she pulled back, looked at him. "Six years to get here is slow enough, I think."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," she said, and kissed him.


End file.
